Ever move to a new house? Those of you who have, will likely relate to this. Those who have not, will learn from my story. Ironically, our big move began at the end of a huge part of my life. More specifically, middle school. I was raised in Boston for ten years after my family immigrated from Vietnam in 2007. As your average Bostonian, I took pride in living there. When my middle school years ended, my family thought it would be fantastic to escape the bustling city, and take a road trip to an even busier city, Montreal. Mind you, the five-hour driving trip was nothing less than excruciating; it was basically a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare. While our traveling conditions were not great, our conversations numbed the pain. On the road, our family joked and discussed our various accomplishments. But one comment concerned me, our next milestone. My sister felt it necessary to reside in an extra comfortable and secure living environment. My mom suggested moving, and first suggested Peabody.

The rest of my family would have happily agreed, but due to my brother-in-law’s job, my sister declined. They began listing other areas that could appease everybody. The location was narrowed down to four possible options: Peabody, Worcester, Quincy, or to relocate to a different state. It’s hard to remember how the compromise was made, but I acquiesced when my dad asked me if I wanted to live in Quincy (knowing it was a rhetorical question more than anything else).

I was nervous about our decision because the idea of leaving Boston after achieving so much felt wrong. Trains of emotions immediately hit me. But I had to get over it, because our family settled on a house in North Quincy, and we made an offer in late August. With some negotiation, an agreement was made, and the home was ours.

Because it was so late in the summer, I had yet to enroll in high schools. The fact that I would enroll weeks after school started seemed unfortunate, but a better idea than not attending at all. By that point in time, I was praying for any opportunity to get out of the house. Fortunately, the mail arrived, and I received a letter inviting me to attend North Quincy High School. My first day of school commenced and it was just as I expected: getting lost, arriving late to class, and worst of all, taking a review quiz. Walking home that day, I couldn’t help but notice my many differences from these Quincy students. It’s difficult to make friends in a new place. A few school days later, the idea of living here for what could be the rest of my life burdened me even more. During lunch period that day, a familiar figure miraculously greeted me, “Yo.”

My head spun momentarily and I responded, “How are you here, bro?”

“I work here,” he answered jokingly.

We spent the rest of lunch catching up on our summer adventures. Suddenly, I was no longer stressed out about making friends, that thought just flew out the window. But later on, in the day, I envisioned possibilities of what could have happened if my friend had never moved to Quincy. “Was I to dwell on the fact I’m different or just accept it and move on?” For me, friends do come and go, which is why I had only myself. Ever since that realization, I started learning to embrace what makes me unique and still admiring others for their own. Despite having made a few friends here and there, I couldn’t have been any happier living in such great environments with or without somebody to accompany me.

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